Tragic Transport

Travel in the UG is unpredictable.

It is often times determined by the weather.

It is often overcrowded, with children occupying spaces that barely fit luggage.

It is often unsafe.

Up North the primary mode of transport is a bus, one that legally sits 64 people but usually accommodates up to 100, excluding the goats and chickens.

Being that the options are limited in the North for people to travel, they have to find alternative solutions to get from point A to point B.  One of these options is a lorry. 

Think of a giant open bed truck with a giant metal frame so that a myriad of objects can be tied down and taken to their new destination.  On top of all of this are hitchhiking people who attempt to find a comfortable seat among the bananas and basins.

It is definitely one of the most dangerous options out there but also convenient for those looking to go somewhere without paying for a seat on a bus.

Last week I was traveling down to Gulu via Homeland, one of the bus companies, to visit a friend and work on an upcoming workshop.  We were about 35 kilometers from Kitgum when the bus began to slow to a crawl. 

I thought to myself, “Great.  The rains have disturbed the dirt roads and we have to walk until they can get the bus through the sludge slash mud.  Oh Uganda.”

We continued to move at the pace of a snail and soon I understood why.

People were displaced on the muddy banks with their belongings, looking confused and worried.  A lone tire flashed by the passing window and that’s when I knew something more serious had happened.

A lorry was tipped on its side with all of its bags of maize flour dispersed across the road, painting it stark white against the neutral colored surroundings.    

Luckily I did not see the accident take place but I can only imagine what occurred…

The poor condition of the roads in combination with a speeding vehicle caused for it to flip on its side when it skid out of control.  I am assuming the people standing on the banks managed to jump off in time to find their belongings spewed across the area.

Except for one.

As our bus inched further down the road and as the faces hopelessly looked at us for help, there was one man, face down in the mud whose extremities were in positions that we not, for a lack of better word, normal.

I, along with my neighbor on the bus, was 100% percent confident that this man was dead. 

People walked on him, over him, and around him to collect their things.  People were not fazed by the situation.

Except me.

I thought about his family and whether or not he was traveling alone.  I thought what they would do with the body, if anything.  I thought about that moment when the lorry flipped and what went through his mind.  I thought about the fact that had he waited for an alternate transport option, this might have never happened.

I thought about destiny.

It broke my heart knowing that there was nothing I could do as I passed by.  I mean I have had these conversations with Ugandans before, sharing with them the importance of not stacking 50 people on top of a lorry to get somewhere.  I have emphasized how we can take the initial steps of safety into our own hands. 

Granted there are things out of our control including road conditions, the driver, and whether or not seatbelts are there.  

But then there are things that we have the power to say no to, including hopping in the back of vehicle.

Locals will tell me, “Ah but Tara, this is Uganda.  This is how it works.”

Now I know things work differently here… Time management, the education system, and healthcare to name a few but getting in an unsecured vehicle is not one of time. 

We have the power to say no and to wait.

The police have to power to stop this but instead fine the driver and pocket the 60,000 Ugandan Shillings. 

Don’t even get me started on corruption.

As our bus pulled away and the images of a tipped lorry, muddy children, and a mad who will never see the sun rise again became part of the past, my heart broke. 

At that moment I was eternally grateful for my seat on the bus. 

That was until my neighbor used me as a pillow and a cockroach ran across my feet.

He’s Back!

In recent months you might have read a couple of posts about our Safety and Security Officer Fred, My Friend Fred and Update About Fred.

Well people…

He’s back!

While I was in the office two weeks ago, I happened to peek my head in on a meeting, hoping to get the attention of another staff member.  My attention was soon diverted as I noticed another person in the corner who resembled Fred.

I blinked again and again to make sure I was not in a dream and when I realized that it really was him, I had to wipe away the tears of joy streaming down my face.

To see him back, his eyes full of life and his smile stretching from ear to ear, I could tell just how happy he was to be back on his feet and interacting with his Volunteers. 

Throughout the day I myself could not stop smiling and counting my blessings to have Fred back.  I shared with him the blog posts I wrote about him and he kept saying how lucky he was to have a supportive group of Volunteers who care so much about saving his life.

He kept telling me how especially thankful he is to have friends, some of whom we may never get the chance to meet, who donated whatever they had to help, whether that me faith, prayers, money, or sharing his story.

From Fred, “Thank you.”

From me, “I have the best family and friends ever.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you!”

A Tale of Two Cities

Kampala is every Peace Corps Volunteer’s dream…

Multigrain bread, cheese, good restaurants, pedicures with the massaging chairs, large supermarkets that somehow resemble Wal-Mart, malls, casinos, bowling alleys, hot water, and steady electricity and if no electricity, there are generators to power the whole city.

While we avoid the congested taxi parks at all cost, we take up residence at Mokka Terrace where we can order an iced coffee and use up their free Wi-Fi to watch the newest episodes of our favorite television shows. 

Kampala recently opened The Acacia Mall, a 3-story, air-conditioned galleria with delicious restaurants, gelato stands, a KFC, a 3-D movie theater, hip clothing shops, children’s play areas, toy stores, a food court, a fitness center, and a rooftop salon where you can sip fresh squeezed passion fruit juice while hanging out in a swing until your massage is ready. 

Now wait just a second.

Are we still in Uganda?

Earlier this month I was in this muzungu friendly city helping Peace Corps while waiting for another training to begin.  I ended up staying at a friends house with another PCV to avoid having to stay in a hotel that Peace Corps would have to reimburse.  Ironically this house is located next door to the Peace Corps office and a convenient 15-minute walk from The Acacia Mall. 

The house had a full size refrigerator that chilled our coffee and Amarula while keeping our lettuce and string beans crisp. 

The mattresses on the beds did not pit in the middle, allowing for a good nights sleep. 

The dog we shared the space with was not infested with ticks or fleas, like the ones you find in the village.

Again.  Where was I?

Spending this time in Kampala started to make me think…

Make me think about the vast disparities that lie within this country. 

How can it be that a mere 10-hours away from Kampala is my home where my neighbors can barely afford beans and maize flour to mingle posho for dinner?  

How can it be that while families are Instagramming pictures of their children eating out of buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken, there are children who have to dig in the garden all day because their parents cannot afford school fees.

How can it be that while I sit in a steam bath for 20 minutes, using 2 gallons of water, families in Kitgum have to live off of one, 20-liter jerrycan of water for bathing, laundry, and dishes.

As I was sitting near the water fountain, eating gelato out of a waffle cone, waiting for my toenails to dry, I became extremely guilty.

And confused.

I know these disparities exist everywhere but for once in my life I felt like I was somehow living in both extremes.  While in Kampala, I soak up all these amenities and when I make the journey back home to Kitgum, I get back into the routine of living in rural, Northern Uganda.

With this being said, I am eager and excited for America.  I am beyond enthusiastic about seeing my family, friends, and new additions to our family.  I am pumped for the gym, spin classes, and banana, spinach smoothies. 

Now with all that being said, I am beyond nervous for the readjustment process. 

I mean, if I am feeling like this living in a place 257 miles from the capital, how will I feel when I make the long 9,168-mile journey home?

BUILDer Brian

At Northern BUILD I got the wonderful privilege to have two visually impaired students in my group.

Both 20 years of age, Daniel became partially blind about six years ago and now can see shapes of objects but lacks color and detail.  Brian on the other hand has been completely blind for two years due to nerve damage.

This post is about Brian.

Now I do not know what I was expecting.  I knew I would be responsible for guiding him around and assisting in activities but little did I know how independent he would be.

Brian was incredibly active in every class; responding to questions, leading discussions, initiating ideas, and leading the way.  It didn’t matter if he was learning a new dance, creating a sack garden, sewing up a tear in a mosquito net, or learning to put on a condom, he did not let his lack of vision inhibit him.

Plus Brian was the funniest and most intuitive kid around.

Example include…

- Staff demonstrating how to do an activity where you sit up and down together in a circle without letting go of your teammates hands and Brian called them out for not sitting down. 

- When presenting about taking pregnant women to the health centers for IPTp, intermittent preventive (prophylaxis) treatment in pregnancy, he said, “Men.  If you are going to score the goal, you have to follow the rules.”

- As I took Brian and Daniel to do the condom demonstration, I had them feel the wooden penis model.  Daniel felt first and figured out pretty simply what it was.  I then had Brian feel it and he goes, “Tara.  Daniel is wrong.”  “Are you sure Brian?”  “Yes!  The penis is circumcised!  I do come from Mbale, the circumcision capital of Uganda!”

- As we danced it out one morning, Brian managed to pick up on the four, 8-count moves with simple explanations and feeling the beat of the drums. 

- Climbing the rock wall like he knew exactly where every grip was.

- Watching him conquer his fear of the zip line and navigate up the tree with the help of his team then fly to the other side.

It was an inspiration to see everyone, from Co-Directors, Counselors, Staff and other campers from different groups, pull together to allow Brian the opportunity to shine.

Priceless